BTK's Verse

War Mongers
(Cry For Me These Tears of Blood)

I’m infected with suspected animosities...
Towards this horde of lords and their subjected atrocities.
My guests guess I’m stressed, but I’ll never confess...
It’s impolite to profess what conscience knows to suppress.
Their stride won’t be broken; it’s honed in victory marches...
It’s why psalms of mourning are spoken under cathedral arches.
Their declarations, in self-defense, it seems...only represent death...
For wars to be scored; winners deemed...1000’s must lose breath.
So they’re deft in argument and excellent in debate…
Cuz they politically represent the fiercest creatures of hate.
So I relate to their whims, act impressed with their observations...
While pushing back the severed limbs I see in imagination.
The tattered bodies from bombs, the hostage’s head unattached...
An updated Vietnam...
................Another generation of children’s innocence snatched.
Yet these mongers of war I break bread with...
Who recite history with rapport more related to myths.
Are superiors of mine...above me in line on the totem...
So I’m forced to ignore my spine...along with my scrotum.
Promotion’s only a notion if you bend over far enough...
Snuff opinions to rise in dominions and never unroll your cuffs.
Work hard, kiss ass...retract what you know is fact...
Fit in with the system...even though the foundation’s cracked.
Must be why men like this never cease to exist...
They’re always so rich and so hard to resist.
All about war, oil...anything that earns...
Polymers, enriched soil...who gets fucked is not their concern.
The lust for power’s like nymphos to sex, keeps these old men hard...
So if mercy is what you naively expect...well...lube is of little regard.
It burns my heart to be groomed for a place in their Room...
Where the Board’ll be strapped to my ass so I can fuck the big pussy too.
A Cuban in one hand and the finest crystal with scotch in the other...
Indulge in contraband, holding the 12 years aged as they would a lover.

I’m covered in disdain and shame...choking back my tears of blood...
And my soul screams from being slain, honor falls and lands with a thud.

Then suddenly, I resurrect what’s me...or what’s left of me to grieve...
And sling my serving tray against the wall behind these thieves.
These muggers of life, these contributors to campaigns...
Who help make a widowed wife as they down their champagne.
Silver slams with a clang, the flutes sing a last song as they’re shattered...
Then I scream to this gang...”Does only your life matter?!?!?!”
“Your millions and millions keep the military as minions...
You give donations to this nation...but you also give it it’s opinion.
You influence senators and congressmen...even our president...
To go to war...even when...the evidence ain’t evident.”

First, there’s shock across faces...then it morphs into anger and rage...
Over all I’ve betrayed, so high up on my soap box stage.
I envision my office shut up, company car repossessed...
Corporate cards cut up...stock options gone for my protest.
I digest the future I’ve made...as their shouts and insults assail...
And how nothing I’ve said today will be felt like the seeing to Braille.
I’ll be forgotten in a week, replaced by another geek...
Eager to exercise greed with their tried and true techniques.
So I shriek at these antiques then freak with my physique...
Throwing punches in a melee; knuckles against their cheeks.
I’m outnumbered ten to one, but they’re old and strength is none...
I easily break their talon grips; cold, icy fingers get outdone.
A punch here, double-axe there...bare hands everywhere...
My elbow hairline fractures...heads without any hair.
In despair, the last one begs, blood streaming from his cracked egg...
Crying tears of desperation as urine flows down his leg.
I kneel and reach with ripped knuckles...hands dripping with plasma...
And touch his streaming tears, tainting the salty drops as it happens.

“Now you’re crying tears of blood...just like every soldier’s mom...
Who lost a child to your greed and some insurgent’s roadside bomb.
Your broken arm resembles the torture the bases you pay for deal...
And that shattered hip that’s got you stranded...is how the soldiers feel.
Unable to come home, no sign of when that’ll be...
Trapped in a warzone...just like you are with me.”

Then I rise, cuz adrenaline’s draining...pain I now understand...
So...for the one that’s still remaining...I’m gonna need to wrap my hands.

The End

V.S.

Bounce's Verse

Intro:
This is not the same old war story...

I've long been known to script the gory... while I sit back and sip,
pen in grip, on disturbing trips provided by The Absinthe Pouring...
instead, I tap my life’s blood and serve you the roaring currents
that currently surge forth, in full force... A meal in full course!
of course, the coarse grains of hollowed smarts torn apart by
Situation Bullets... give birth to bleeding hearts. Born of Art, I
brush strokes on canvas of coronary marks. Joan of Arc fried
I burn deep in imagery melting flesh to paint fresh images of death
winded by the funk, kinda like old dudes, purple pills, & last breath
drink of my intoxication, this sure the fuck ain't Near Beer or O’Doul’s
so choose your poison wisely, as I bleed this pens ink...
.................................................. ................just for you to peruse

Cry For me the Tears of Blood: A story of Damnation

the stench of sulfur gripped the field of battle, as sanity rattled
in wake of disturbances and ripples in time, his soul embattled
Man wrestled on trestles between the realms; Scheol & Divine
vine like fingers out of shadows strummed misery via the spine
insurgents of the damned played this tool like a fiddle, as brittle
bones contorted in symphonies of sinful deeds… & took w/ ease
Antiquities sewn into seeds, & sprouted death in flesh w/ ancient keys
manipulated to take a knee & spit bile upon the alter of patient pleas
stipulated through inhuman tongue, forked on the skin of fiery lungs
the priory hung by The Son of Perdition’s umbilical, a scholarly chum
an evil known by some, as the antagonist of Christ; The Lawless One
This face of war burns eternal thru the infernal embers of Hell on Earth
a shell of dirt emulsified by death & hurt gave birth to the Devils’ mirth
the pagan scripts of cold blood drained from that of hunted witch
summon that of which we speak in whispers, as the times bewitch
as modern light’s controlled by switch, our soul’s susceptible…
…………………………………………………….....................to mental flips


Hand in wretched hand
We dance by the light
…of full moon
A nation of fire worshipers
entranced by mushroom clouds
…in full bloom

We fly solo on wings
…of the fallen
never alone though, although
…low enough
to evade the Son’s glare
…& Fathers calling

Parasitic by nature, we stay
…in the flesh
Wicked Kings of old holding
…the strings
like a dark force of
…marionettes


cry for me the tears of blood from empty sockets
blackened pockets gouged out by foreign rockets’
red glare, war declared in the name of Beelzebub
Tempter of man, scepter in hand, w/ eyes of blood
spewing forth fountains of life spilled on earthly shrubs
Demons lust & lap up the remnants of, like thirsty cubs
and shape shift, as quakes hit with an ungodly love
flicking tongues to the sky in defiance of God above
rotted flesh, cracked & marred by the devil’s scared
mark of the beast, from thin to obese, demonic puppets
march on the heart of man in droves, while trumpets
sound in heaven warning wayward flocks, of war foretold
forebode by scribes of old, dark armies march fourfold
the numbers of man, & annihilate Kings in every land
drinking blood straight from skulls of the righteous clan
the might of the damned smashed the machines of war
true weapons of mass destruction possessed deep…
……………………………………………..............in mans core

The battle wages on, the city of angels called upon
descendants of nephilim to hold the ground in Babylon
flesh torn of flesh, winged armies of God descend upon
ranks of the deviant & clash in battle as the flash of swords
blind the living pawns, tears turn to blood on this dawn
of war, as the solders of paragon converge on Aragon
the very soil that Ferdinand & Isabella were married on
the great battle of Spain stained troops worlds over in fight
geysers of crimson hue spouted rivers of good & evil alike
Angelic forms engaged the advancing cries of satanic rage
talons against swords. winged generals roared like lions
as the occupants of Hell, howled in an ancient tongue
the heavens rumbled as the voice of a 144 thousand hummed
psalms in Aramaic to quell the beast, as Gabriel swooped down
yielding the sword of knowledge to cut the head off deceit
as the dark prince pounded human flesh covered drums…
……………………………………………………...........…...of retreat


It’s kind of Ironic how a burning bush commanded Moses,
Yet a Bush burning for command is damning most of us!


Cry for me the tears of blood:
-By Bounce